This Is The Price You Pay For Love
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: You were such a fool. [Jaina, after the Battle for the Broken Shore][Pre-BfA]


**Notes1:** Holy hell, I think this is the first time in a while I've finished a fanfic in half a day. On the other hand, I had a day off from work and used that time to crank out a chapter of _First Impressions: Sweet Treats_ and work on this.  
 **Notes2:** This is something that's been on my mind a while, on the heels of _Battle for Azeroth_ being announced, and who else but Jaina Proudmoore would show her face again, after her dishonorable retreat from the world at large? I had a fondness for her when I started playing during _Cataclysm_ , right as the Firelands patch went live, and it was quite the shock to see her fall from grace that began in _Tides of War_ and...well, depending on how one sees, may or may not have flipflopped between rage and calming the hell down but no longer being the woman of peace she once was. I remember being miffed at her reaction toward my Horde heroes (to play Devil's advocate, I roleplay half my alts as neutral mercenaries, and there aren't any playable high elves - void elves don't count - so...) during the WoD legendary quest, and then being thoroughly despondent and somewhat exasperated at the tantrum she threw toward Khadgar and the Council of Six when they decided via vote to allow the Horde back into Dalaran during the _Legion_ expansion. The biggest sin of all, outside of the morally ambiguous actions she took in the Purge of Dalaran and threatening to drown Orgrimmar with the Focusing Iris following Theramore's Fall, is her turning tail on Azeroth when the Legion _is right on their doorstep_ , and stayed hidden even when Illidan used the Sargerite Keystone to open a rift to Argus that allowed Azeroth's forces to push through, assist the Army of Light and fight the Legion on their turf, an act he found absolutely necessary but would have also ensured total destruction if one false move was made. Although her reasons to be angry are justified, her reaction in regards to them was overblown, and her abandoning Azeroth in its time of need was, in my eyes, crossing the Moral Event Horizon. Though many players harbor hate for Jaina and want her as a raid boss as an excuse to kill her (the same can be said for many other notable NPCs, but it's really just Sylvanas), I don't feel the same way. What I do know is that the second I see her, if the game makes it possible for us to fight her, Alliance or Horde, I'm going to channel my inner _Gurren-Lagann_ and make Jaina Proudmoore _grit her teeth_ (and if it isn't, I'll _find_ a way to write it in).  
 **Notes3:** Also, I was this close to having Jaina quote Carl Johnson from _Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas_ word for word at the end, but while it would have made a nice reference (a funny one, too, because I like the idea of Jaina going full on Thug Life) it would've probably detracted from the severity this short story portrays. Still, it gets the point across.  
 **Notes4:** P.P.S. I know people like to complain about Jaina's personality shift post-Cata (on top of them spreading the dreadlord meme like the plague, to which I will never forgive Jesse Cox for starting it and Blizzard running it into the ground and putting it in the dreadlord entry in _World of Warcraft: Chronicles Volume 2_ ), so I'm hoping this story doesn't make her come off as laughably angry. On the other hand, I like to think the Council vote in 7.0 pissed her off so badly she not only paints the Horde in a bad light but also the Alliance. In this moment, taking place just shortly after she bolts out of Dalaran, she's seeing so much red she can't snap out of it and look past it even if she put her hand right up to her face.

* * *

You were a fool to think you had a chance.

You were so young back then. You had the knowledge of the arcane and everything the world could offer you in the palm of your hand from the time you were a child and had come to Lordaeron with your father. You had potential, you showed interest, you had the power and prestige that was your birthright lying right there—in the hand of Lady Luck, the hand of Destiny. Good fortune comes to those who take it, and that's what you did. You fit your hand over theirs and allowed yourself to be lead down the crossroads, closing many doors just as you opened many others.

You had it all, you know, once upon a time. You were the best Antonidas could have hoped for, the admiration and respect of a prince who had not yet fallen to madness, the pride and hope of House Proudmoore. Life was grand. Sweet, like the first bite of a ripened apple.

How sour those bites came, when _they_ entered our world and ruined it all. Surging like an endless green tide, stinking with rotten magic, their axes sharp and soiled in old blood. Innocent blood? Damned blood? What does it matter? They came through the Dark Portal, into the Blasted Lands that had once been the Black Morass, and took the Kingdoms by storm, butchering, slaughtering, burning, raping, pillaging.

We didn't stand a chance.

Yet all the while, on the other side of the continent, you went about your days. Studying, learning, growing. The darkness festered south and spread, but they would never reach you there. You were untouchable, incorruptible.

How naïve you were to think you'd be safe for long.

 _I was a child back then!_ you say. _I didn't know any better!_

That's where you're wrong. That was your first mistake. Your father did what any sensible man at the time—no, what any man in his right mind should have done: lock them up. Lock them up and throw away the key. Send them into Durnholde Keep and fight—fight, because they had nothing to gain, and all they had to lose was their life, for what do things such as pride and honor would have served in hell when they had gambled everything and lost them? Even in victory, there was only death; the red pox was their sole domain, not the ramshackle houses Terenas had his men erect.

You snuck out there once. With the boy-prince, late one night, and saw them for yourself. Witnessed how wretched they were, how large and alien they seemed, unlike anything you had ever seen before. How bent and bowed they looked, struggling through the lethargy just to keep their eyes open.

You became curious. You ignited a spark, and although it would not erupt until years later, it had already begun. That was your second mistake, and above all other decisions you had made and could have done, this was the worst. It was the beginning of the end of innocence.

It was the beginning of foolishness. You couldn't have done much during your formative years. How could you, being the youngest child of Admiral Daelin Proudmoore? A child of royalty? Surely if life willed it so you could've traded places with Derek and he saw for himself what had ravaged Stormwind and the Kingdoms, things might have turned out so much differently. He might've added more pull to the decisions that were made.

But Derek wasn't there. Derek died in the Second War. _You_ were there, and without hesitation you walked the path of destruction.

You didn't look back. You didn't even bother to.

Off you went, into the night, into the dawn, living, surviving, hoping you'd live through another day. Hoping you would live to see the chaos and fighting end and peace be ensured, for it was there you learned the orcs were afflicted with the blood curse, driven to madness and lust to conquer and destroy. They were just as much victims as the people of Stormwind were before their castles burned as they fled north; as the people of Lordaeron were before the princeling and his Scourge tore it down; as the people of Dalaran were before Archimonde crushed it clean with the palm of his hand.

Bite one hand and feed the other, so that it will come to accept yours and be lead in the right direction.

You should've known better.

You should've known they weren't to be trusted. Not just the orcs, but the troll tribes that threw themselves behind their backs in a time when all seemed lost and the tauren who were saved by them in the Barrens as they were hunted by the centaur. Not just them, but the high elves who had all but been purged when Quel'Thalas fell and they took up the blood oath to exact vengeance on the Legion…and the Alliance that had failed them. Not just the blood elves but the goblins that had ravaged by the Cataclysm and enslaved by their Trade Prince, even after the Warchief granted them a place in the Horde. Not just the goblins but the pandaren, those of the Huojin philosophy who valued family above all else…and continued to do so even when the Warchief abandoned his duties and his successor nearly cannibalized them in his hatred and hunger for power.

No matter how nice they seemed, how negotiable they can be, they cannot be trusted, and that was your third mistake. Your fourth, your fifth, your sixth…how many more must I list?

The orcs were the first to upend law and order; they're the ones to blame, regardless of their unnatural influence. Your father had every right to be afraid, to be angry, and retaliate. They were the enemy, the aggressor, and they weren't going to stop unless someone stepped in and made them. Make them stop until they were wiped from the face of the earth. If he could not stop the orcs, then he would have gone after the trolls, for they aided them in the Wars and paid the damage the elves had given them tenfold. If not them, then anyone who had provided them parley and sustenance and leeway into the Kingdoms, for they were steeped in sin and a perversion of self-interest and glory.

What has been robbed of humanity, of the Alliance, must be paid back in full.

And yet, you persisted. You continued your crusade for peace, for reconstruction and reparation. You desired hope for an era devoid of fighting, of loss, of pain. You yearned for forgiveness and the ability for those to give it, receive it, and let bygones be bygones. You wanted a quiet, peaceful life that was normal and free of burdens.

Turning against your father only hastened your downfall. Your…rebirth. How else is a child brought into the world, if not through pain, blood, and tears?

Your anguish was honest, your tears raw and unending…but when they finally did stop, you woke up. You saw the Horde for what they were. You saw your King and his son for what they were: utter fools that believed peace could be achieved by breaking the Horde and pushing them onto their knees, for if words could not force them to submit, then a show of force would.

He should've done more. He should've known better than to have struck a deal with the rebels, with the likes of Vol'jin and Lor'themar and Baine and Sylvanas, and push back against Garrosh.

He should've made an example out of them and let Anduin see what happens when a rabid hound is cornered and finally brought to bear. Except he didn't; he showed them _mercy_ , fed them the antidote to shake off the pain of being alive and rise once more—on their feet, shoulders straight, and faces turned toward the horizon.

You could have done something. You could have wiped them right out then and there. You had the magic, you had the power in your staff—Antonidas' staff, imbued with the might of the Thunder King. Consequences be damned, you should have showed them!

But you didn't. You let it slide and simmered like a petulant child.

Why? Why did you do that?

Just why?

Bah. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl. Look at what you did and what it cost you. Look at what their survival brought. Because of that man's mercy, the mercy the August Celestials would have shown at the trial, Garrosh _broke free_. Garrosh escaped and brought the Legion to Azeroth.

No. No, not just him. Varian did. Anduin did. Go'el did. Khadgar did.

 _Dalaran_ did.

And where is everyone now? Where are they, Jaina? Varian is dead. Anduin is King. Go'el is lost and wallows in shame. Khadgar lets the Horde in— _lets them in_ , as if nothing ever happened—and Dalaran is about to lead the war against Sargeras and his Burning Crusade with the backing of several important organizations working in the light and skulking in the dark at their call.

 _And what about you?_ you ask me. _What have you done for your world?_

What have I done? What have _I_ done? I've done more than you could have ever hoped to have accomplished!

 _Like what? Running away because things didn't go your way? Running back home to your mother and tattle on the big, mean Alliance?_

Idiot! This is your fault! Your fault for being so kind and trusting! This is the price you pay for having too much love! It's because of you father is dead! It's because of you Varian threw his life away! This is your fault for not preparing Anduin more for all the shit about to fly in his face and fall on his lap!

This is your fault for thinking there'd ever be peace in this broken world! You didn't listen!

 _You don't want to listen!_

It's unobtainable!

 _It's not!_

Yes it is!

 _No, it isn't! And you refuse to see that!_

The same goes to you, you fool! My eyes are open! I can see what you do not, and I will change it!

 _If by 'change' you mean 'destroy it', then the cycle of hatred will just keep going until there's nothing left!_

If it means the Horde and the Alliance will be punished for their sins, then so be it! Let it continue!

…I don't care anymore. Let them fight all they want. Everything I've ever known and loved is gone. What do I have left to lose?

… _You have a home._

What home? You mean Kul Tiras? I look out across the calm, grey sea and ignore the way the wind flows through my robes and bites into my skin, the way it tosses my hair into my eyes.

Kul Tiras.

Home.

I wonder if they know what I did. Are they even still around? The last time I heard any news of home, it had been rumors that it had been reduced to slag when Deathwing emerged from Deepholm, a morning star in the twilight sky.

But…maybe…if I go back, maybe then…

Maybe then, I will finally feel welcomed. _Accepted. Complete._

 _Or scorned. Shunned and reviled._ _One man's virtue is another man's sin._

I scoff and turn away. What would you know?

I should've tried harder. I should've done something… _anything_. I should've spoken up when I had the chance. Not everyone in the Alliance was a fool: Tyrande wasn't. Neither was Genn. Even that one woman, Sky Admiral Rogers, who commandeers the _Skyfire_ …she had lost so much to the Horde, just as Genn lost his son and Tyrande so many of her people. They've had their misgivings and they have their reasons to be angry. They wanted vengeance… _justice_.

They still do.

Some would say it's revenge and that by pursuing it, the after effects would be long-lasting, perhaps even irreparable. That's something you would say, eh? You and Anduin, Malfurion and Velen and everyone in the Horde that is 'all-knowing' and 'holier-than-thou.'

What difference does it make when vengeance and justice are the same? Painted the same color but in two contrasting shades? What does context mean when all a person wants is release from the ghosts that haunt us?

That, Jaina Proudmoore, is peace. _That_ is vengeance. _That_ is justice.

And I will have it all the same.


End file.
